


This doesn't constitute proof that blonds have more fun

by CaptainDude (HandbagMurder)



Series: South Park one shots [5]
Category: South Park
Genre: Aged up characters, Bottom Craig, Frottage, Grinding, Hair Kink, Long Haired Tweek, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, This isnt a crackfic, Typing these tags makes me feel unclean, but it could be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-16
Updated: 2016-06-16
Packaged: 2018-07-15 10:13:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,135
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7218394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HandbagMurder/pseuds/CaptainDude
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tweek was bordering on sublime sometimes - a stranger with the voice of his best friend. What started as a minor fixation takes a turn for the better one evening when Craig asks him why.</p><p>This is literally Creek porn featuring my favourite guilty joy - Tweek with long luxurious garnier fructis tier hair. I hope it brings someone, somewhere, some kind of joy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This doesn't constitute proof that blonds have more fun

**Author's Note:**

> When i first started out, writing porn without plot was the easiest thing in the world. tbh it was actually the only thing i wrote. But now... ho boy. Now it is significantly more difficult, and i dunno if thats because im old and bitter or if i am tired and crotchety or if i just feel significantly guiltier than i used to about the whole thing.
> 
> whatever. Please be aware that i have endless respect and affection for anyone who shares my unrelenting passion for long haired Tweek. if u want to #MakeLongHairedTweekHappen, or if you would be so considerate as to kinkshame me in the privacy of my own blog, then you can hit me up anytime at @handbagmurder dot tumblr dot hell

Craig sits with his back against the headboard, looking down Tweek’s legs and over his ass and studying the way his t-shirt rests in the curve of his spine. His friend is lying on his belly on the mattress, his gaze fixed on the TV atop his chest of drawers, and the un-self-conscious nakedness of his legs makes Craig feel more and more uneasy the longer he watches him. He tries not to let his eyes linger on his calves, and he tries not to notice that his boxer briefs are riding up the backs of his thighs. Craig feels like he shouldn’t look at him like this, but honestly he thinks he can’t help it. The strangeness of his body echoes the sublime, and the unknown mysteries of his skin and breath and hair are fascinating. Almost hypnotic. The pair have always been so close, and even though Craig knows him well there are times that Tweek could be a stranger to him. A beautiful, unknowable alien in human form.

“... Hey T.”

“Mmm?”

Tweek taps at the buttons on the PlayStation controller impatiently, his game character executing a well-practiced jump and landing with ease on the platform above. He doesn’t turn around. Craig shifts uncomfortably, his eyes flickering to the slightly ajar bedroom door, and then to the back of Tweek’s legs again. His eyes travel up, to the nape of Tweek’s neck – his bun is messy and falling loose, and a few stray threads of blond hair are touching the back of his neck. Craig counts them, in the same way a person tries to count the stars before giving up. He knows that when this level of the game is over, Tweek will excuse himself, go to the bathroom and brush his teeth, and when he comes back his hair will be back in place as smooth and as well controlled as it was any other day.

“Can I ask you something?”

Tweek pauses his game and turns his head a little, the profile of his face betraying an uneasy frown. The silver glow from the TV makes his silhouette look uncanny – like the glow is radiating off his skin and making the hairs on Craig’s arms stand on end.

“... I guess? You know I hate when you ask me that.”

“Right. My bad.”

Craig always forgets. He clears his throat, and scratches nervously at the lobe of his ear.

“I was just thinking. Wondering if you know it’s been like, five years since I saw you with your hair out.”

Tweek hums thoughtfully, as though this hadn’t been a totally bizarre and embarrassing thing for Craig to ask. Craig’s heart is beating so swiftly it feels like it could spring out his chest any time.

After about ten painful seconds, Tweek nods.

“Sure. I guess that sounds right. I guess”

And Craig squirms, wondering if he will have the balls to do it this time, or if, like on so many others occasions, he’ll panic and back out before he asks. If he does, what excuse will he use this time? Craig doesn’t think he can get away with ‘forgetting his question’ anymore.

“Well, you know. I was just thinking. About how...”

Tweek arches an eyebrow. Craig is glad of the low light, hiding his flush.

“How what?”

“… How I never actually asked why that was.”

Tweek had started growing his hair before it was popular to do so - about the time the pair of them were thirteen. Craig hadn’t thought it was unusual at the start. He hadn’t even realised until Tweek came to school wearing an Alice band a couple of months later. A few months after that, he wore a stubby ponytail in an elastic. By then it had become so normal that Craig felt it was too late to ask.

Now the two of them are eighteen, and Tweek is turning nineteen in August, and Craig hasn’t seen the other boy’s hair out in almost half the time the pair of them have known each other. That feels weird to him, for some reason. Like Tweek is hiding something. When Tweek visibly frowns, though, and sits up, Craig realises that the weird one here is probably him. Is Tweek wondering why even noticed that? Craig can hardly admit that he spends so long staring at him sometimes, and asking himself who or what he’s looking at, that after a while everything about him starts to seem surreal and wrong. It’s like when he was a child, and he would repeat a word over and over again until the sounds and letters no longer held any meaning. By the end of it, Craig has no idea what Tweek even looks like at all.

He has to remind himself, because the light is low and he’s getting confused again - Tweek has green eyes. They are deep set and they always seem alert, despite soft lilac shadows beneath them. He has a slightly crooked nose. High cheekbones and a square jaw. His features are androgynous in some lighting, and masculine in others, and sometimes when Craig thinks that girls look at him Craig often finds himself jealous. Maybe he’s just being selfish, but he is reluctant to have anyone look at Tweek but him. The boy has too many mysteries. Too many fleshy secrets and carnal enigmas, and Craig can’t abide anyone breaking his puzzle right beneath his nose.

“Asked why that was?”

“Yeah. Why you do that to your hair?”

Tweek stares at him, in silence, and in the background the static of the TV fills the air with solid electricity. It makes Craig tingle with nervousness.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, why do you tie it up like that?”

“Like this?” Tweek touches his hair, and the tone in his voice makes him sound vaguely surprised. “You mean in a bun?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, I haven’t cut it since we were kids. So it’s kind of... I dunno. Long I guess.”

“... Is it?”

“Yes.” A sort of wry amusement finds its way into his voice, and Tweek drops his hand into his lap. He cocks his head, studying Craig as though he is incredibly puzzled by this conversation, and maybe he is. That’s a good thing. It means that Craig hasn’t been too obvious with his preoccupation. “What did you think? It stopped growing once it hit my shoulders?”

“... Didn’t it?”

“No!”

Tweek is laughing now, mildly entertained by Craig’s cluelessness. “Of course not. My hair grows like anyone else’s.”

Craig supposes that makes sense.

“Well I don’t know!” he says defensively. “I just wondered. How long can it even be after all this time?”

Tweek shrugs, and Craig thinks that under his amusement he looks a little bit embarrassed.

“Why are you asking?”

“I want to know.”

Now, he seems thoughtful, and for a moment Craig thinks he will just show. Indicate the length on his chest or upper arm, or something, but instead, after a while, he heaves a sigh.

“I can show you,” he says, reaching for his bun, “But only if you promise not to laugh at me.”

“Why the fuck would I do that?”

“I dunno.” He hooks his finger in the elastic, and drags it down so that his hair begins to slip loose. “It’s kinda dumb?”

Craig doesn’t think it’s dumb at all. He knew way before Tweek stopped cutting his hair that he had never really been a big fan of hairdressers, and he had an almost phobic distrust of anyone bringing scissors near his head.

“I’m sure it’s not.”

Craig draws his legs up close to himself as Tweek removes the elastic band entirely. He loops the tie around his wrist, and with a sigh tosses all his loose hair over his shoulder in a thick cascade that looks silver in the TV glow. Craig’s heart does a funny thing in his chest. As Tweek runs his fingers through the ends of his hair, he thinks it has to be almost 16 inches. At _least_. And it looks like it belongs in a magazine spread advertising luxury conditioner.

“Not that interesting.” Tweek pushes it back again and it comes to rest, still falling over one shoulder and slipping in loose ribbons onto his face. A lump rises in Craig’s throat, which he swallows, and he wrings his fingers in fear at the question he is contemplating asking.

“... Can I touch it?”

Tweek laughs. His easiness around Craig, which has always been a defining feature of their relationship, makes him feel guilty.

“Uh, sure?”

He shuffles closer, and beneath his weight shifting Craig can hear the creaking bed. When he leans in Craig can smell something heady and herbaceous coming off him. His conditioner maybe. His shampoo. His hand shakes when he reaches out, and touches him, brushing first against his cheek and then to his temple and the roots of his hair. Tweek looks a little bit nervous, but not uncomfortable. If he hadn’t been expecting the evening to play out this, he is surprisingly good at accepting it.

“Sorry if it’s greasy.” He says, as Craig pulls a small hank forward and lets it flow like silk over his hand. “I haven’t had a shower yet today.”

“It’s fine.”

Craig can feel his heart beat even faster. He’s thinking about Sunday morning coffees, of sleepy smiles and blond hair splayed on white pillow slips. He’s thinking about the beach in the summer, of the smell of salt and sand and water on skin, and of green eyes, like clovers and grass and earthy, growing things that bloom and spread and bask in the midday sun.

“It’s really soft.”

“It gets kind of gross sometimes.”

Craig doubts it. He lets the small ream of hair escape his fingers, and Tweek shrugs his shoulders in question as he sits back.

 _Happy_?

Craig wouldn’t describe the feeling as happy. He probably wouldn’t have tried describing it at all. He is aware that whatever it’s called, it’s a quivering feeling, unfamiliar and rooted in forgotten, fearful places he has never wanted to acknowledge before. It’s so much stronger than the dull aching hunger he felt at times, in the void between wakefulness and rest, and maybe it’s the purer, conscious form of these same thoughts. The thoughts that haunt him, always lingering like little ghosts on the peripheral of his mind. Is he thinking them directly then? Experiencing the unknown want upfront for the first time? A too-real-to-be-real sense of _need_ overcomes him, making his breath shaky when it moves out his chest.

“It’s awesome.” He tells him. “I can’t believe you wear it up all the time.”

“Well what else am I supposed to do, man?” Tweek asks. “If I had it down at school everyone would take the piss out of me. And besides, it’s against dress code. I’d get in huge trouble.”

Clearly starting to feel uneasy, he goes to sweep his hair back up once more. Craig jerks his hand out to grab his elbow, and stop him.

“Don’t.” He insists, as his company startles. “I like it like that.”

Tweek looks at him in wide-eyed suspicion, clearly scanning Craig’s expression for any indicator of insincerity amongst the digital light and the shadow. He mustn’t find any – he lowers his arms.

“Why?”

“It looks good. I dunno. I can’t explain it.”

Craig bites his lip, unsure about how he is supposed to justify himself without saying something that could be misunderstood. He can’t tell for sure, but maybe Tweek is flustered. He looks away, back down at the controller for his game, and reaches for the joystick half-heartedly.

“Okay? But I kind of need to finish this game. It’s hard for me to concentrate with hair in my face.”

“You’ve been playing for hours,” Craig tells him. “Why don’t you do something else instead?”

“Like what? Do you want to braid my hair for me?”

This sounds like sarcasm. Craig feels a little uncomfortable that Tweek would call him out like that, but he has come this far so perhaps he can go further. He shrugs and tries to play it off as though the idea is only of moderate interest to him.

“Sure.”

There is a moment of silence, in which Craig thinks he may not have gotten away with it. Tweek has never been easily susceptible to tricks or misdirection – he is far too anxious and distrusting for that - but perhaps his years of building rapport with Craig convinces him that there is no debauchery afoot in the end. He sighs, and reaches for the controller.

“Let me just put on a movie or something.” He navigates to the menu and brings up youtube. “Background noise. Whatever.”

Craig lets him. He feels tense and his hands are shaking. He tries to twist his fingers together, dully aware of his dry mouth as Tweek hooks a lock of hair behind his ear thoughtlessly and continues to browse for a film.

He settles on Spongebob Squarepants, with Spanish subtitles, and reaches over to place the controller on his bedside.

“I have a paddle brush on the desk,” He says.

Craig realises this is an invitation for him to go get it. He stands up, and hobbles to the desk as best he can on shaky legs. The brush is next to a sun glasses case and a stick of aluminium free deodorant. The handle is worn, but the bristles are boar and clear of any fallen hairs. He returns to the bed, and Tweek re-orientates himself so they can sit one behind the other. He gives Craig a weary smile over his shoulder, as he sits down.

“I’m only doing this to humour you.” He says.

“I’m humoured.”

Craig is careful as he tucks his legs under himself, and reaches forward to hook all of Tweek’s hair back behind his head. His fingertips touch the side of his neck, and Craig feels a frisson of pleasure pass through him at the warmth of his skin, despite Tweek giving no indicator of having felt the touch at all. Once all of his hair is falling between his shoulder blades, Craig reaches up and places the brush at the crown of his head.

“Tell me if I pull.”

“Trust me dude, if you pull my hair you will definitely know.”

This makes Craig smile fondly. He pulls the brush through with care, catching the hair as it falls loose from the bristles and laying it back down gently in place.

“You have so much.” Craig comments, thinking briefly of his middle-aged father, whose baldness has always discretely upset him. “You must have good hair genetics.”

“Mom.” He says casually. “And her brothers. My dad’s hair is average.”

“My dad’s is shit.”

Craig is replying, but not really paying attention to the conversation. He is wholly invested in the fibres in his hands. There is definitely something magical about the movement of his hair and the way it looks on him. It touches his back and frames his face like he belongs in an art nouveau painting, and as Craig lets it rest in place it conceals the warm, sweet scented parts of him, behind his ears and at the side of his neck. Craig’s mouth had been so dry before, but now it’s swimming. He parts Tweek’s hair into two sections, one on top and one below, and pushes the top one forward over Tweek’s face.

This takes him by surprise - he reaches backwards to hit Craig lightly on the knee.

“Jesus Christ!”

“Sorry. Couldn’t help it.” Craig discards the brush, and uses his fingers to comb it back. Tweek mumbles something in irritation but doesn’t argue. He leans forward in a slouch and his hair slides between Craig’s fingers again. It feels so good. And every time Craig isn’t forcing himself not to he is thinking about how it would feel against his face.

“Do you sleep with it up? Usually?”

“Yeah. Or I braid it. If I sleep with it out it ends up everywhere.”

He looks back, over shoulder, and smiles tentatively.

“Playing with it like that feels nice.”

Craig feels his entire face turn bright red. His hand lingers at the back of Tweek’s neck, and he tries his best to play it cool as he lets his nails touch the edge of his hairline. Tweek shivers visibly, and Craig can’t help it – he moans a little in sympathy, or empathy, or desire. It’s hard to say, because it all bleeds together into a messy, hot feeling in his belly. What matters though is that it happens, and Tweek immediately sits upright, surprised.

“Are you okay?” he asks, twisting his body partially so he can peer at directly at Craig’s face. Craig nods, not trusting himself to open his mouth. His grip on the fistful of hair in his hand becomes intensely tight.

“Are you sure?”

“Uh huh.”

Tweek’s eyes narrow just an increment. Craig can’t see his thoughts behind him in the low light, but he can feel his friend thinking, replaying that embarrassing sound over and over again.

“... Are you getting off on this or something?”

Humiliating. Craig immediately opens his mouth to deny it, but Tweek is already moving away to regard him face to face. His brow is furrowed in thought, and he doesn’t look angry but he does look a little unnerved. Craig feels like he’s just made the biggest mistake of his life, but the lingering feeling of hair between his fingertips is making his breathing short, and shallow.

“I’m not.”

He lies. Tweek’s expression sets, and it’s obvious even backlit by the TV screen. The bedsprings creek as he kneels up, and Craig’s heart leaps to the back of his tongue as he grabs the bottom of his t-shirt and hikes it up, over his head in a single, smooth motion. The action ruffles his hair, a magnificent mess of soft blond, and reveals his body which is foreign, and beautiful. Craig thinks he experiences actual pain – the contours of his stomach are flat and tight, raced in well-toned shadows from his ribs all the way to the furrows over his hips. His shoulders are broad and his arms are well contoured. Craig has seen his body before but never in this context. It’s surprising that in _this_ context, he finds it attractive.

“How about now?” he asks, in a gentle, shaking voice that sends a shiver down Craig’s spine.

“... Maybe.”

Tweek’s expression falters for a moment, a fleeting shadow of vulnerability passing over his face, but then suddenly it hardens and he is pushing Craig hard against the headboard. In that sudden, electric moment, Craig’s insides jolt and he realises he is completely in love. Tweek’s hands slide over his shoulders to the sides of his neck, his thumbs tracing the bump of his Adams apple and pressing against the underside of his chin. Craig tips his head back in submission to his fingers as they slide behind his ears and tickle the virgin nerve endings hidden there. He moans again, breathy and dizzy, and he barely has enough time to stop before Tweek is kissing him, and everything around them shudders like the world has ground to a halt in orbit.

His kiss is shy and chaste. His mouth is warm, and Craig cam smell his hair as it brushes his cheeks and tickles against his collarbones where Tweek leans over him. There are fireworks in his guts – he thinks he might faint when Tweek’s tongue presses shyly against his lips for entrance, and once he grants it the touch of tongue against tongue is so sweet and sexy it feels like it will resonate through his memory for the rest of his life. When he reaches up to hold Tweek’s face, there is hair under his hands and his body throbs with pleasure that boarders on sensory overload. He feels himself sliding down the headboard, and Tweek’s body pushes against him until they are chest to chest. He opens his legs to let Tweek between them, and the only things separating their hips is the thin cotton of two pairs of boxer brief shorts. Craig’s cock is already halfway hard.

“Holy fuck Tweek.”

He hears himself cursing as Tweek kisses his jawline, dripping down his throat and sinking his teeth gently into the curve of his shoulder and his neck. The biting is thrilling – it’s just enough to feel it but not enough to cause him any pain. He almost says something he could regret as teeth scrape the back of his ear, and Tweek’s hair falls into his face and fills all his senses. The softness on his mouth and against his skin makes him twist and arch up in desperation, and Tweek presses his body back so that the veiled shape of his erection slides alongside Craig’s. The sound of the movie plays in the background. Craig knows Tweek’s parents are downstairs, and the door is partway open. He tries to swallow the next moan which swells in him, as Tweek’s hands skirt underneath his t-shirt, and choking on the sound brings wells of tears to his eyes.

Tweek’s tongue laves inside the shell of his ear, dipping the contours of each crease teasingly so that Craig forgets himself and his body beyond the heat of his mouth. Hair tickles his chest and his throat, and Craig’s nails rake elevated ridges in the smooth canvas of Tweek’s back. Somehow, the pair of them roll over, and Craig is on top, and Craig pulls off his t-shirt, revealing his bare chest, and Tweek props himself up enough to land a splayed hand on the middle of his back and pull him closer. The tongue which had left cooling wetness on his neck circles his left nipple playfully, and Craig thinks suddenly of Tweek watching porn movies, learning how to make someone come, learning how to suck a nipple between his lips and tease it until his partner writhed and begged for more. The thought makes him tingle, it spreads from his head to his toes, and it’s almost like a special kind of orgasm that renders him breathless and panting as Tweek’s spare hand caresses his navel. Craig knows that he might be nervous, but he isn’t shy. And maybe, Craig realises as he laces his fingers in his long blond hair, he has thought about doing this more than Craig had.

Craig doesn’t mind.

He pulls the hair between his fingers back, removing Tweek’s mouth from his chest just long enough to see his flushed lips part in half formed words before Craig kisses him and shut him up, and Tweek pushes him backwards again so he lands with a soft thump on the mattress, next to the game controller. His feet are by the pillows now, and in his desperation to pull the other boy to him he accidently kicks a couple off. Tweek resists his gravity just long enough to shove his briefs down. A lump rises in Craig’s throat as he realises that now, Tweek is completely naked, and this brings on a ruthless, primal instinct to be naked too. He hoists his hips up enough to push his underwear down a bit, his cock bouncing free, and Tweek murmurs something incoherent in a low, dizzy voice. Craig thinks it sounds a little bit like he is denouncing any kind of underpants.

Tweek has always had a weird thing about underpants.

Craig doesn’t give a shit if he never wore underpants again – the roughness of Tweek’s pubic hair is strange on his lower belly, the pale colour lending only a slightly softer texture than the one Craig was used to. As Craig’s hands slides from the roots of Tweek’s hair to his shoulders, he thinks he can feel every blond hair on his body. Fine and invisible on his chest, but progressing in an optimistic trail from his navel downwards.

Tweek is surprisingly well formed. He had hit puberty later than the others, but the wait had been worth it because he makes Craig feel small and fragile now as he lies against him, grinding with obvious purpose between his legs. His nose slides against Craig’s, and when Craig tips his head back he kisses him. His tongue is not nearly as gentle now, but that is okay. Craig’s hips rock on his and he isn’t feeling very gentle any more either. The press of hot skin against the head of his erection is maddening, and as that mouth moves back to the corner of his jaw Craig wishes for something else on him. Something wet, and soft, and welcoming.

“Keep your hands in my hair.” Tweek murmurs, lips touching Craig’s earlobe and making him shiver. “I want to make you come.”

With the exception of wanting a large expresso, Craig hadn’t known Tweek to want anything so specific in his entire life. Craig whines to hear that the thing he wants in these moments would be more of a benefit to Craig than to himself.

“Do it.” He says, and he doesn’t sound familiar to his own ear any more. “I want it too.”

Tweek makes a soft noise, one that almost could have been a little laugh, and Craig arches up against him as he lets his hands slide down to the outsides of Craig’s thighs. His hands are shaking, and Craig almost loses his grasp on himself. It never fails to amaze him how powerful Tweek is. How strong. He’s the bravest, most beautiful person Craig knows and it’s hard to be sure why falling for him took so long. Maybe it didn’t have anything to do with how he looks at all. Maybe it would have happened whatever way Craig had justified it.

He lets his hands back in Tweek’s hair, savouring the way it slides over his shoulders as Tweek kisses his chest again, and then the highest point at the bottom on his ribs. His tongue traces the dip over Craig’s navel and plays there for a moment, dipping in and out and making Craig’s erection twitch even as he twists fistfuls in his hair.

“Oh god,” he hears himself saying, as Tweek moves slowly lower. “Oh god, oh god, oh god, _fuck_...!”

His words blur together into a breathless noise of ecstasy. Craig has always gone to church, but this is the first time he’s ever prayed. He’s thinking this is what the priest is always talking about when he talks about transcendence, because Craig knows nothing in the moments Tweek’s mouth envelops his length besides the pleasure of gratification, and by all accounts that feeling if probably divine. Hair slides over his hipbones, and tickles between his legs. Tweek’s hand strokes the base he can’t reach with his mouth, and it doesn’t take Craig long to think he’s about to come. Every time he feels Tweek pull off, to tease the little bridge of skin at the back of the crown of his cock, Craig’s legs twitch and his skin prickles because he knows he’s on the brink of breaking. He tugs his hair, and pulls him off, ad before Tweek can ask what’s wrong he tells him.

“I’m going to c-“

Tweek silences him, pulling him close and kissing him and his mouth tastes sinful, like sex. Craig winds his hands in his hair, lets their tongues slide over one another as he tries to drown in the taste of his short, panting breaths. Tweek’s hips press his legs open. Between them, Craig can feel precome and spit. He moans into Tweek’s mouth as he feels a hard cock sliding against his own.

He’s dizzy. He feels like he’s breaking open, enveloping this boy in his jaw and his ribs and his pelvis until they are wrecked together, bone on bone, and Tweek is rocking on him like they are fucking and Craig feels more vulnerable than he’s ever felt. His back arches, and Tweek kisses his ears. He skates his teeth along Craig’s jaw and neck, and his tongue dips in the hollow at the base of Craig’s throat like he’s drinking the noises he’s making, the gentle gasps and pleas for _more_ even though right now they are as close as they could ever get. Tweek’s hair is everywhere. It smells godly, and feels divine, and it leaves Lichtenberg tracks of ecstasy on Craig’s skin while that cock rubs against his, and Craig can feel the texture of Tweek’s fine leg hair rubbing under the muscles of his ass. He feels himself quivering, as hands hold his hips in place and the body rutting against him moves harder, and far away he hears the sound of the headboard hitting the bedroom wall, a hand moving from his hip to slam against it and hold them in place. Fleetingly, Craig glimpses silver-lit bowed lips and handsome features pulled into a grimace of pleasure, before hair falls into his eyes and the light from the TV is blotted out and Craig feels himself come undone.

His body shudders, jerking into the release of orgasm with a loud cry of relief. For a single, perfect moment, he forgets everything but a single, sacred name. Tweek falters for a moment, coming with his own low keen of bliss, and Craig feels himself sinking under the weight of a hot body over him, hair still tickling the side of his face and obscuring the flickering shadows the movie casts on the ceiling. He listens to Tweek catching his breath, and concentrating on the squeezing, crushing feeling of one hand still clutching his hip Craig closes his eyes.

When they part, Tweek sits up and pushes his hair off his face. He looks weary, and dazed in that groggy kind of way Craig feels in his core. After a moment to catch his breath and compose himself, he crawls off the bed and picks a towel out of the laundry basket. Craig watches him from the bed, looking at the way his hair slides over his shoulders and swings against the angles of his back. When he returns, he passes the towel to Craig, who sighs and turns onto his side. He feels come sliding out of his navel and onto the duvet below.

Tweek frowns at this, glancing down at Craig’s hip where the fabric is bunched, then back up to meet his eyes. For a second, Craig thinks he is about to say something peevish to him, but instead, quite suddenly, his face breaks into a smug grin.

“I spent years trying to accept that you’d never like me,” he said. “Was really that easy the whole time?”

Craig tries his best not to laugh.


End file.
